Pyrrhic
by The Readers Muse
Summary: There was a beautiful sort of poetry in the way Tobin's jaw delineated.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own "The Walking Dead" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Set in an au version of the final confrontation with Negan in the season seven finale where Negan is outnumbered and his forces mostly beaten, but is holding Tobin hostage.

 **Warnings:** au on plot, violence, blood/gore, drama, angst, romance, pre-slash. Basically how a thing-thing becomes a 'thang.'

 **Pyrrhic**

There was a beautiful sort of poetry in the way Tobin's jaw delineated. Firming steady despite the barbed-wire bat sinking red-lined cuts across the side of his face. Dripping full beads of crimson down the curve of his chin like they were witnessing the birth of a new river.

He hated himself for getting stuck on the small, meaningless details. Like how out of everyone, it'd been Tobin that Negan had grabbed when they took down the closest saviors flanking him. How Tobin was bent almost double, forced to fold into himself as Negan held him up at his height - boot-soles scoring across the cracking blacktop. How something in his chest had pulled tight, almost like a heart attack, the moment Negan had pressed Lucille against Tobin's neck. Laughing into the tense silence as Aaron and Michonne stiffened on either side of him.

"So, whatcha going to do now, Ricky-boy?" Negan purred, acting like he had all the cards despite being outnumbered. "You have the men, but I have your side-dish with Lucille pressed against his neck. Not pretty odds, I gotta admit. But I think I could get a few good swings in before one of you chuckled heads could get to your guns. So, tell me Rick… you wanna play poker? Might as well considerin' the circumstances. How about this, Texas standoff, one hand. You win, big-boy here gets to keep breathin'. Lose and he's mine. I could always do with another pair of hands. Especially ones this…large. I think the wives back home are gonna _love_ him – if you get my drift. I might just become a jealous man after all."

His fists knotted at his sides. Hands clenched so tight the tendons ached. Caught on the details again as he watched Tobin's throat dip – once, twice, again - before he realized what he was seeing.

 _No._

 _Don't._

He tried to communicate it with his eyes.

That it was too much of a risk.

That he couldn't watch.

That he couldn't lose him too.

But the truth was they'd brought this on themselves.

From the day they'd arrived in Alexandria, the people here had started learning from them - whether through actual lessons or example. There had been pushbacks and growing pains, but in the end they'd proven themselves. And Tobin had been quietly at the top of the pack. Proving he had something to bring to the table from the very start. Just so long as it was coaxed out the right way. The kind of ability that was always understated and overlooked until it was really needed. Exploding to the surface like an ancient volcano long gone dormant. Just waiting to surprise you.

And he had.

This was their fault.

 _His fault._

"Tick-tock, Rick. What's it going to be, huh?" Negan sang, the corner of his lips pulling up in that same awful, sardonic grin. The one the voice in his head was screaming for him to tear apart, piece by piece. To dig down to the roots and sinews and set a fire there so the rot would never come back.

But he wasn't the only one.

He watched Tobin's eyes harden. Seeing it happen in slow motion as the man's boots rasped through a gritty pivot. Firming into the sickly, wilting grass by the front gates. Muscles tensing as Carol hushed through a sudden intake of air behind him. Recognizing the same thing he was in real time. The snap. The moment when everything else fell away – including the consequences.

He canted his head, trying to stop him.

 _Don't._

 _I'll find another way._

 _Something._

 _Anything._

 _Just trust me._

 _Please-_

He wasn't sure why, but when Tobin's hands flew up - grasping Negan by the arms and wrenching him up and over his shoulders. Slamming him to the ground with a wordless, animal sound before laying into him with his fists - all he could really think was that the old saying was true.

Sometimes the gentlest people really _were_ the most dangerous.

* * *

"Tobin!"

He was tight on Tobin's heels when he followed him into the house. Eyes darting from red to red as he took in the splattering trail of Negan's blood that ranged from the blacktop outside to the kitchen tiles. Hearing the sudden rush of footsteps down the hall the same moment he wrenched open the screen door.

After that, the sound of vomiting from the downstairs bathroom was easy enough to hear.

 _He hadn't even made it upstairs._

He closed his eyes, leaning into the kitchen doorframe. Feeling a hundred different things – _anger, worry, pride, guilt, relief -_ before he shelved all of it. It wasn't what Tobin needed right now. Instead, he pivoted on his heel and started up the stairs to the master-bath. Grabbing the first aid kit under the sink and a couple of towels before heading back down again. Catching the sound of the toilet flushing the same moment his boots met the bottom step.

He waited until Tobin had wobbled unsteadily down the hall, pausing in the entrance to the kitchen, before he looked up from his seat at the table. Deliberately giving him space even though even muscle in him was trembling. Finding something new to hate when Tobin looked up at him without really seeing him. Hands scrubbed pink like he'd tried to get rid of the evidence but forgot that his rucked-up sleeves were stained dark and red through the cotton.

"You okay?" he rasped quietly.

For a long moment, Tobin didn't say anything. Scaring him in fractions considering he was usually the one who struggled to find the right words. Taking in every wavering moment of it as Tobin leaned against the door frame like it was the only thing keeping him up. Blinking hugely before he rocked back on his heels. The knuckles of his right hand bleeding freely down the white-wash as he slowly keeled himself back into balance. Going through the motions as he filled up a glass of water from the sink and downed it quickly before doing it again and nursing it slowly.

"I almost killed him," Tobin answered after a long moment. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he half expected something to be there. Tears. Blood. Maybe even vomit.

"You didn't."

"I _wanted_ to," Tobin said again. Emphatic and almost angry like he was deliberately misunderstanding.

"I know," he echoed simply. Because he did. Everyone had a breaking point, and they'd all watched Tobin find his. Not just find it, but act it out. _Brutally_. Reminding him of the taste of warm blood flowing down his throat and the texture of human skin tearing between his teeth.

Somewhere outside what was left of Negan's people started yelling. Scuffing at the dirt as they were herded towards the holding cell. Slinging curses and threats as Tobin's shoulders hunched. Flinching in on himself before sighing and levering himself up and away from the wall. More or less collapsing into the chair on the opposite end of the table despite there being two or three chairs arranged between them. Creating more space than he was comfortable with as Tobin scrubbed his hands over his face. Inadvertently smearing the drying red of Negan's blood across his temples.

He wondered what kind of person it made him considering his first thought was that it was a good look for him.

"I know what you're going to say," Tobin started, not quite stuttering, but fighting something back as he cleared his throat. Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "You're going to say he deserved it. That it was a good thing. That-"

"He _did_ deserve it," he pointed out, breaking in before the words could start stumbling over each other. Recognizing the man's expression as the same one he figured must have been on his face that day on the road when Daryl handed him a cloth and tried to tell him - without using the exact words - that he was scaring his son.

"I know that," Tobin responded, "Believe me, I might not have seen what happened before- but I've seen more than enough to know that if anyone in this world deserved to die, it was him."

There was a silent 'but' that had the ability to strangle empty air hanging between them. Providing a strange contrast as the familiar sights and smells of Tobin's house slowly softened his senses. Seeing the last couple of days in silent snap-shots – the pile of dirty dishes on the counter, the bottle of gun-oil that'd leaked down the side of the leather recliner, the pillow and blanket squashed into the far couch, the blood-dried palms of his work gloves abandoned beside the unplugged telephone.

It had the power to infest and kill everything it touched. The power to make the brave face the both of them were clinging to crumble into nothing. But for the first time in longer than he could remember, he _let_ it come. More to the point, he let it come how _Tobin_ wanted. Giving him the power to make or break everything as the man expelled a pent-up breath across from him.

"I didn't think I was that kind of person. Someone who _could_ do that- who could _want_ to kill someone. Who could do it like _that_ \- who-"

He thought about how it'd taken five of them to drag Tobin off him when it was over. When the others finally snapped out of the horror-infused daze and overpowered the last of Negan's followers. Following Tobin's lead as the man laid into him with both fists. Slamming his head back against the concrete with every dull thud of fist meeting flesh. He thought about how Negan's face had been barely recognizable. Mashed down to the glint of bone poking out of pooling red. But mostly he thought about how Negan had still been laughing. Maniacal and gurgling until Tobin kicked out with his boot and caught him under his chin with an angry sound. Knocking the bastard clean out as the sound of shattering teeth and a dislocated jaw _click-clacking_ in on itself made Tara gag and Eric look away.

"We're all capable of it. Every one of us. We just don't know until it happens. It happened to me, same as you. I just didn't split my hands open doing it," he answered lowly.

Tobin cocked his head. Tired but curious, like he didn't even feel it.

"What?"

He gestured at the man's hands. Skimming through the air just above the table, as if to encompass the busted knuckles and angry-red veins. Everything from the littered cuts to the blood trickling sluggishly between his fingers. All hallmarks of something hard won as the faint shadow of crimison crusts started to form around the edges.

"Oh."

His lips quirked despite himself at the innocence behind it.

The way Tobin could still stay it like he was actually surprised.

At the end of the day, he figured that was the difference between them right there.

"Com'on," he uttered, shoving the first aid-kit a couple inches closer to the middle of the table before he slowly got to his feet and breached the distance between them. "Let's get you cleaned up."

* * *

"Don't ever scare me like that again," he murmured quietly as he finished wrapping the man's hands. Knowing he was sharing something more than he'd originally intended as Tobin looked up. Blinking like he wasn't sure he'd heard him correctly.

He didn't blame him.

What they had?

The truth was, they hadn't really stopped to talk about it.

He knew where he stood, especially now.

But for Tobin?

 _Hell if he knew._

That was up to him and him alone.

All he could do was stake something of himself on it and hope for the best.  
 _  
Because that was point, wasn't it?_

It was give and take, not just take.

He followed the press of lashes into the hollows of more than a few sleepless nights as Tobin seemed to mull it over. Like he _didn't_ know his entire god damned world had all but flipped inside out the moment Negan had wrenched him backwards. Forcing him to heel with wood and wire as he lost what was left of his self-control and let his hand rest on Tobin's shoulder. Encouraging him to look up until their noses were almost brushing.

It reminded him of the first time behind the house that morning after watch duty. The moment where weeks of tension had suddenly gone stale and cut-throat on them. Each of them giving just a little until he had Tobin backed up against the siding. One hand bracketing him in - keeping him close - as Tobin leaned down to meet him. Stealing vicious, greedy kisses until they learned each other's rhythms and slowly found themselves cradled in a solid middle ground.

They'd laughed about it later. Losing some of the stress they'd been carrying around since the world ended as the fact that they'd almost been caught going at it like teenagers slowly sank in during the intervening hours. He'd walked funny for a few days and ended up having a crick in his neck from lookin' up, but hell if it hadn't been a good time.

They'd never put a label on it.

He figured back then he was being smart about it.

But, as it turned out, he was just being a coward.

Because honestly- seeing Tobin with Lucille against his throat had changed 'thangs.

Perspective and all that, he guessed.

He huffed a half-laugh that was more than its fair share of bitter and self-incriminating when Tobin moved for him willingly. Chin finding a home in the curl of his palm as he tipped up his face and kissed him gently. Hesitantly. Like for once he wasn't sure of his welcome.

"What were you thinking huh?" he murmured quietly, stubble rasping against stubble as their cheeks brushed. Keeping him close as Tobin sighed and leaned back into the lean of his chest. Trusting him to hold his weight as he closed his eyes and answered.

"That I was going to die," Tobin answered honestly, muscles relaxing slowly - like a breathing exercise - as the tension in his back gradually unspooled. "I don't know, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Not to go out fighting- that's too romantic for me. But maybe to give someone else the chance to get a shot in. I figured that-"

He shut him up with his lips. Half angry, half in mourning. Tugging on the lower plush with his teeth until Tobin moaned into his mouth. Hips shifting like more than just his lips was starting to get interested. Making him believe he'd gotten away with it before Tobin caught his wrists in his hands and forced him to listen. Stilling him in that placid, unassuming way he'd come to appreciate if only the man's eyes weren't so piercing.

"I know you don't want to hear it, but it's the truth. I figured, if we needed one more life, then maybe-"

"Don't-" he rasped again, licking his lips as the chapped parts in the center stung. Feeling stupid not just for repeating himself, but for how vacant and cheap it sounded. "Don't do that again."

But just like he had a habit of doing, Tobin only laughed softly. Eyes smiling as he turned in his seat. Knuckling the back of his neck with an awkward hum.

"I'd like to say I promise, but-"

"Yeah," he answered quietly, hands solid and warm against the slope of his shoulders as they watched life - as it was now - carry on around them through the open window. "I know."

They didn't talk about how things would be different now.

Or even what they would do - _could do_ \- now that Negan was taken care of.

It was far too early for that.

And call him selfish, but he wanted a few more moments of _this_ before the rest of the world got any ideas about bringing on the next thing.

* * *

 **A/N:** This story is now complete. Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.

 **Reference:**

* pyrrhic: (adj.) won at too great a cost.


End file.
